Oath
by crackberries
Summary: To take care of those who need help, even if you do not care. Because it doesn't matter if the world has gone to hell; you are the doctor and they are your patients.


for **andthenshesaid**. has been sitting half-complete on my computer because I suck and finished it up during ungodly hours of the night. I was going to specify if this was a post-apocalypse or just war-torn but it's up to you. For the sake of sakes, let's pretend these guys have an energy generator somewhere.

I've never written any of these guys indepth before, and I usually test characters out through humor first but hey. Lili is Lichtenstein's name (original, I know) and I think that's as far as it's going to go for unknown character names. let me know what you think!

* * *

><p>[the first warning sign]<p>

_Have you ever seen someone die?_

That's a ridiculous question because by this place and time in the world, if you're still alive, you've seen someone die. If you haven't, you're probably dead.

And being in the special position he's in, Roderich Edelstein has seen many people die. Whether they go silently into the night or scream till their last breath, he's steeled against all sorts of death.

Which is why when a big-boned man, with ashy blond hair and a hooked nose who has just brought his unconscious blond companion into the makeshift hospital, asks him that question, Roderich does not wonder why it's crossed the other man's mind. His reply is simple.

_I have._

* * *

><p>Ivan.<p>

That's the only personal information the man gives out, aside from detailing the destruction that his friend has suffered. He has an impressive knowledge of medical jargon, letting Roderich know what the damage is but not what caused it. Usually, knowing the situation that has caused the ailment helps, but Braginski won't disclose it.

Frankly, with many others to cater after, Roderich doesn't care.

* * *

><p><em>Doctor, have you ever seen someone die?<em>

_I've seen many._

With that, the other man walks away. Roderich wrinkles his nose as he does, the coarse scarf wrapped around the blond's neck emitting a slight smell. The man disappears into the makeshift tent in the courtyard of the "hospital" as Roderich tries to remember who he's here for.

* * *

><p>Soon, Dr. Edelstein is too wrapped up to pay attention to the man who keeps vigil by the blond's side, periodically taking cracked glasses off the battered face to gently clean them and place them back neatly. The blond had woken up a few days prior, and seemed to be (optimistically) clinging on to life. He had given a hoarse whisper to Dr. Edelstein and told him his name. Something that begins with an A. Adam? Albert?<p>

Roderich doesn't have time to remember. A fresh batch of people have been redirected through the fishnet to him. It's a rather large group— six people, if he's counted right. Few are injured, some are just looking for a haven. He gets Lili, a sweet young girl who was a lifeguard at a pool before the End had come and her brave and trigger happy brother put a .45 in his own head, to ask all the standard questions to the group. Because even if it doesn't count for much, he has a hospital to run.

_Has anyone within your group died in the past 48 hours?_

_Has anyone caught anything contagious within this group?_

_Has anyone sustained extreme physical injury?_

_Were any of you in a medical or life guarding career?_

And more. Then finally, the only one he really listens for. Even if it's the most unnecessary one. The one that he makes sure that she asks, no matter what.

_Have you seen or heard of a man called Ludwig Beilschmidt?_

And even though the answers are no, the answers will always be no, Roderich holds put a little hope. Just like that man with an eastern European accent who refuses to let "fate play its hand", and refuses to let it take away someone who is probably very close to him.

_Alfred_. He said his name is Alfred.

* * *

><p>In hopes of something that isn't possible, Roderich and a fellow named Eduard Von Bock run this makeshift hospital in what was once a high school. Through a fragmented string of fate, they had met each other after the world had calmed down a little bit. Both agreed that since they posses good medical knowledge and just about everything around them has gone to shit, they should find people similar to them and build a hospital. They could do a little good, and by nicking as many medical items from wherever possible, they could start to rebuild lives.<p>

Their own or those of others, they're not quite sure yet.

It's been going on for a good year now (or that's how many days Eduard's scratched into the wall in their "office") and they've become rather popular through word of mouth. Or the fish net, as a Cuban man had named it while helping clear out the debris from the school when they were beginning. That same line of communication, supposedly the strongest in what was left of their world, still didn't bring the answer Roderich was looking for.

_Have you met a man named Ludwig Beilschmidt?_

When he was younger, before the world crashed and burned, Roderich wanted to be a musician. His parents insisted that medicine would be more useful.

When rounding up nurses and other medics through the carnage for their hospital, he finds their words replaying in his head over and over again. And he's never been more thankful.

* * *

><p>When a patient dies, and it happens frequently, they generally call Eduard to the sick's bedside. He's apparently got more of a soothing presence than Roderich. But nonetheless there's always that one person that asks for that other doctor, the one they've heard play on the out of tune piano in a half-wrecked music room that also serves as the "doctor's office".<p>

In this case, it's a pretty brunette girl named Elizabeta who has been sleeping her days out in the hospital. She is a high school music teacher with a penchant for classical and folk music and a nasty cut that is infected beyond possible repair.

He knocks once, twice, and enters the room where she and four other people are kept. She's propped up on her cot, and there are two wooden chairs beside her bed. One's already occupied by that man with the scarf,

_Have you ever seen someone die?_

Ivan, whose quiet tone matches Elizabeta's hoarse whisper, is telling her something undoubtedly amusing that makes her lips curve up slightly in a weak and pathetic smile.

It's cold hearted of Roderich to say so, but the procedure is standard for telling a patient goodbye. Rattle off inspirational quotes, give an assuring smile, keep the voice calm and low and tell them what they need to hear so that they can leave as peaceful as possible.

Occasionally, Roderich and Eduard wonder whether or not it is cruel of them to do so. Often times, they are the last people the patient sees before leaving the mortal world, and the patients seek comfort from them. They give it readily, and Eduard occasionally muses if the ability to emotionally detach themselves from everything is cheapening their good deeds.

Roderich, for the most part, stays quiet.

"You know Ivan?" He asks amiably, thankful that he's remembered the man's name.

"He visits me," Elizabeta replies. "He's a friend."

Roderich frowns inwardly; they generally discourage people wandering within the hospital grounds and every able bodied person gets the run down on the rules when they arrive. But once or twice, people sneak off and get under the radar. That and the main reason Roderich keeps a pistol tucked and hidden neatly within his clothes is because of that one man who had sneaked into his quarter's during the night and tried to suffocate him.

"That's wonderful," he replies in that calm and even tone of his. "I'm glad you've met someone."

_Because I still remember the way you described how it was like to kill your own family to put them out of their suffering_

Her calloused hands move, and there's a slight clink of chain against steel because when a person comes in and lets the doctors know they set their family's hiding hole on fire "so they don't see what I have to see", special measures have to be taken.

"He brought me this." Elizabeta smiles, holding up a tiny photograph. It's a picture of a field of sunflowers, like something one sees on calendars. Roderich says it's beautiful, like her smile, and sees it's fading, like her. Briefly, he wonders if they would have been friends in another life.

But he's more curious as to how and why Ivan has struck up a friendship with Elizabeta, but he will save that question for later. For now, there's a hand he needs to hold.

* * *

><p>[The second warning sign]<p>

As far as Roderich is concerned, a year after the event that lead to the End, tobacco is not readily available anymore. At least not in their corner of the world. Surprisingly, he didn't go into withdrawal as bad as he thought he would. Not like anything shows up to tempt him anyways.

Except for today. A slightly sweet smell is wafting from somewhere in the courtyard. It's ridiculous really, how something so small can churn a need that's been lying dormant for the better part of a year.

It's coming from one of the tents in the courtyard, where the better-off generally stay. Roderich frowns; there's no rule against smoking because the need's never arisen, but if someone's somehow located smokes then Roderich supposes he's going to have to say something against it.

In the tent, that man Ivan is sitting with a cigarette dangling from his lips as he smiles warmly at the blond (Alfred?) that's giving him company while he counts out cards. Their heads snap up as soon as Roderich enters the tent and clears his throat. Both smile again, Alfred's sunny while Ivan's falters slightly.

"I'm going to have to ask you to not smoke within the premises, Ivan." Roderich says evenly.

"But there's no harm in it, da?" Ivan asks, but butts out the cigarette on the tent floor anyways. Roderich watches with mild distaste as a dark mark forms on the cheap canvas, though there's something whirring in his brain that makes him want to ask Ivan if he has any more.

* * *

><p>When people recover, they leave. Simple as that. It's what ensured that there are just barely enough beds for whoever comes in.<p>

Somehow, the tent with the dark burnt patch on the floor is still occupied by Ivan (Braginski, as Roderich has learned) and Alfred (whose last name Ivan won't disclose). Names don't hold much significance nowadays any ways.

They need to be kicked out, but Eduard insists that it has to be done at a better time. They may be done their physical recovery, but they'll need to heal mentally as well.

It doesn't matter much to Roderich Edelstein, because the fishnet has brought up two people with information on Ludwig Beilschmidt.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, as Roderich frantically questions Feliciano Vargas and Kiku Honda, Alfred comes down with the worst headache he's had since he first came to the hospital. He throws up, feels dizzy, and is shifted out of the tent and to a bed in an empty class room. Ivan brings a tattered sleeping bag to be with Alfred.<p>

While Lili cleans up the tent, she picks up a prescription container for mood stabilizers. It's half empty and is labeled for one Ivan Braginski.

* * *

><p>He rarely allows himself any weakness, but Roderich sits in the hallway of the second floor on a plastic chair and is silently crying. He's used to dealing out bad news but when it comes to receiving it, he's not as strong as he likes to portray himself.<p>

"I used to hate peach tea."

The voice is so quiet that Roderich almost doesn't catch it. He lifts up his head to look down the dim hall with bleary eyes to see a tall figure walking towards him. He squints and sees it is Ivan, someone who has been in his peripheral on a constant day to day basis now.

"Ivan?" He calls out for good measure, and Ivan's form is clear now. He sits down on the dirty floor beside Roderich, and has a small smile now.

"I used to hate peach tea," Ivan says again. "But Alfred used to like it a lot, aside from his sodas and milkshakes. He tried to get me to drink it sometimes, but I'd always refuse.

"And then a couple of months ago, us and this Finnish man were sifting through a destroyed coffee shop for everything was gone. Everything except for a few cans of peach tea, and I don't think I have ever tasted anything more delicious."

It's a pointless story, but it distracts Roderich from the news that Ludwig Beilschmidt has disappeared off the face of the earth in every sense of the word, and is currently resting six feet below it.

"I'd do anything for another can of peach tea." Ivan sighs, a slight whimsicality to his voice. "Like how you'd do anything to have _him _back, right?"

Roderich's first instinct is to lash out and tell Ivan that he needs to just shut up. It's overpowered by Roderich wondering how the hell Ivan knows about him and how Ivan has found him moping in the halls in the first place.

"You're not the only one to lose someone." Ivan wraps a hand around Roderich's calf, and squeezes in what Roderich guesses is supposed to be a comforting manner. It only causes him to stiffen . "Was he a friend? A lover?"

"He...he was..." But Roderich doesn't want to disclose to this person, this person who is still a stranger no matter what, what exactly Ludwig meant to him. "He and I were close."

"I see." Ivan withdraws his hand, and folds it with the other across his lap.

"And you? What is Alfred to you?"

There is no reply. Out of the corner of his eye, Roderich sees Ivan's lips go terse. Silence falls across the two, and Roderich decides to be the one to break it this time before it becomes more uncomfortable.

"What happened to the third man? The Finnish man?"

More silence, then Ivan shifts in his seat. He stands up, and Ivan can hear the bones of the big man creaking as he straightens himself out.

"I will be seeing you later, da?" Ivan smiles and bows his head in a polite matter. "Till then, Doctor Edelstein."

* * *

><p>"This patient is not going to live much longer." Eduard hands over a tattered notebook flipped to a certain page. On top of it is scrawled <em>Alfred F. Jones, M, 19. <em>"Could you please take over? There is a woman who is pregnant and she can only speak Taiwanese, and I think it would be better if I was the one handled it."

Eduard then touches Roderich's hand in a comforting, understanding gesture because over the course of the year of destruction, he's lost his two close friends and knows how it is to have a chunk of your heart just dissolve.

And Roderich knows that Eduard's not making a jibe at his skill as a doctor by saying that he will better handle it; with someone who's dying already, Roderich doesn't have to focus as much on the patient as he would have had to in a developed world, and he can work on clearing his own mind.

"Of course," Roderich murmurs as he scans the notes Eduard has taken. He reads them thoroughly as possible, and at the end of the notes, sees something peculiar scrawled. Something not in Eduard's handwriting, something someone would have scribbled in when Eduard left his book at the patient's bed side, which he tends to do often.

_Have you ever seen someone die?_

* * *

><p>"Is he going to be okay?" Ivan asks as Alfred sleeps soundlessly, and Roderich then knows that Eduard has not disclosed the full situation to Ivan.<p>

"He'll be fine." Roderich says.

And maybe, just maybe, he feels a slight bit of remorse over the lie.

* * *

><p>Life hits and skips immediately. It never paces itself, and as one of the first patients of the hospital had once said, "Has one of the shittiest plots of all time."<p>

Roderich had laughed at that time because it was said in jest, and because the patient had a tendency to complain about everything, from the lack of tea to anyone who made fun of his eyebrows.

Of course, the more experience he gains within the hospital, the less humour and more truth Roderich finds in that statement.

Ivan is sitting, crying openly beside Alfred's bed. It's been confirmed that the young man doesn't have a pulse, and won't be getting it back. Roderich feels a sharp sting of jealousy that hits him to the core, because he hasn't been able to openly grieve at the bedside of those who he cares for. He hasn't been able to stand by their side as they drift into the next life, and he definitely hasn't had a chance to say a proper goodbye to the one that had meant the most to him.

"We'll make sure he's buried properly." Roderich assures, hand on Ivan's shoulder.

_And you need to leave by tomorrow, since there's more patients and we have a business to run._

* * *

><p>The cold water feels like a gift, splashing against Roderich's face as he clears off the grime from the past couple of days. Eduard has given him a small chilled bucket of water and Roderich is sitting in his room, making the most out of it. After seeing the amount of distress and grievance Ivan has been going through, Roderich has realized that he's been going through the same. Just in a more silent manner.<p>

And it's not something he wants to do, so he needs to clear his mind out. Tomorrow, he'll have to politely kick Ivan out to make room for new residents, new patients that are alive.

The front of his dress shirt (because he's _always _proper no matter what the situation) is soaking with icy water, the cold sending small shocks through his body. He splashes his face again for good measure, and hears a knock on the door.

He's not in a state to talk to someone but he answers anyways, pulling a blank face and putting his glasses back on before he answers the door.

* * *

><p>[The third and final warning]<p>

_Have you ever seen someone die, doctor?_

Ivan doesn't scream.

_I don't think you have._

He doesn't yell.

_You've never seen someone truly die._

He doesn't cry.

_You'll never see someone truly die._

These are the uncomfortable observations Roderich makes as Ivan talks in a tone that's cool, even, and unnerving. Roderich wants to ask how Ivan has both found and gotten into his private quarters in the hospital, but remembers him visiting Elizabeta and thinks that Ivan has a penchant for poking his nose around in places where they don't belong. He's pretty sure that now is not the time to confirm his theory, because Ivan has got Roderich's pressed up against the ornate and rusting mirror he has hung up carefully beside his bed.

"You'll never see someone truly die," Ivan repeats, tapping the back of the other's head with a semi-automatic. Even with the calm voice, Ivan has an incredible sinister aura around him. That, though, might be Roderich's fear talking.

"So hasty..." Roderich murmurs, trying his best to keep a cool front. He wants to add that Ivan knowing one personal piece of information doesn't mean Ivan _knows _him, therefore Ivan shouldn't be barging into his room during the dead of the night or threatening him or holding a gun to his head or _oh god, what a great way to die._

"You won't see their eyes dull every day. You won't hear their voice thin out every time they speak."

It's that godforsaken voice that's preventing him from taking any defensive measure, Roderich reasons to himself, and not the gun.

"You won't see them die from the inside. You're not going to see them change in a terrible way, you're not going to start with a friend and end with a stranger."

"Who...are you to judge?" Roderich grinds out, and wants to pretend it's fear (definitely fear and not Ivan's thick and dirty fingers) wrapping around and constricting his throat.

Roderich angles his head, causing the nuzzle of the gun to get pressed further against his scalp. Straining his eyes, he sees a faint smile playing across Ivan's face. Going off pure instinct, Roderich knows Ivan has made that shift from merely grieving to mental instability.

Roderich also knows now that it's not he who Ivan truly has a grudge against. Currently, Ivan hates life and he hates life for letting him live while Alfred gets swept away.

"I-I'm sorry to hear about your loss—" he begins, his choice of words taking a sharp change in trot course of action. He needs to ebb the regular bite to his language if he wants to get out of this alive.

"You are only sorry because you want to save your own life. You don't need to lie to me, doctor. We can be honest adults here, da?"

"Don't do anything irrational, Ivan." Roderich pleads. "You're grieving, don't do this. Alfred wouldn't want-"

The gun is lowered till it's pointing at his back and fingers weave through dark brown hair, pulling Roderich's head back until he can feel the other's breath against his own sweaty skin.

"Don't tell me what he would and wouldn't want." Hell, had the bastards voice grown more _cheerful_? "Don't tell me, doctor. You didn't know him. Ever. You never took care of him."

"I tried my best." Roderich's voice is strained, and he feels like his heart is going to jump out of his throat any moment now. "I honestly tried my best, Ivan."

"It wasn't enough, was it?" Ivan's smiling again and Roderich clenches his legs in order to not let himself go and embarrass himself in front of the other.

"I tried my best, it wasn't my fault." Roderich repeats, and something within that statement makes Ivan snap. He slams Roderich's head against the mirror, cracking it. Roderich feels dizzy, and is slightly aware of something smacking him a across the back of his head. The gun, maybe.

"You don't know."

_What a calm voice_, Roderich thinks to himself. _Rather soothing._

"You'll never know."

Because Ivan is beyond the point of recovery, he hits Roderich's head against the mirror with each statement. And Roderich hazily realizes that he himself is beyond the point of recovery and is going to die either ways, so allows one more biting comment.

"I guess that makes me luckier than you."

Ivan stops in his actions, silenced for a moment.

Within that brief pause, Roderich does realize something. Ivan has been wrong all along Roderich _has _seen someone die, just the way Ivan says you see a person die.

Every time Roderich has looked in the mirror, he's seen himself dying. Every time he finds himself think about Ludwig Beilschmidt, he knows he's dying. He knows for sure he's not the same person he was before, and he knows of his own repeated attempts to empty all emotion from himself because they were too painful.

He can't place a finger on it exactly, but he knows he's not alone. Since the End, everyone has been dying and he's pretty sure he's seen more than just himself.

Like Ivan.

He vaguely remembers the hopeful man who had brought in his (friend, brother, or lover?) acquaintance in and he intimately knows the man who's muttering a foreign language under his breath as he steels himself for his first (intentional?) murder.

He has seen Ivan die from the inside, he has seen him flicker away beneath those violet eyes. Because Ivan and Alfred were just more residents within the hospital, Roderich's never paid attention to it. But he's seen it.

It's not much of an accomplishment but before it bangs, not fades, to black for Roderich, he takes a little pride over it.

A little pride over the fact that yes, Roderich Edelstein can safely say he's seen someone die.

He doesn't have much time to delve into it any further though, because a split second later his head is sprayed across the mirror.


End file.
